Late Night Fun
by Izu3039
Summary: AU. Arthur is locked in a haunted house with Alfred, and the American is freaking out. Now, who locked them? Lame oneshot. No pairings.


A/N: This is crappy, I actually used this for a homework assignment from my English teacher. You can expect more short oneshots throughout the year if you want, this is a recurring assignment providing I always choose to write a story.

Anyway, the really hard vocab words (okay, they're not that hard but still) are my homework. I have to write a creative short story out of them, so sorry if there seems to be a lot of randomness. I needed the words somewhere.

Enjoy! :D

P.S. Also, the last part with the BTT was added in after, since I used up all of my vocab words and had started to ramble, so I cut that short while added a bit more here. And the random "bloody"s that England uses were inserted after.

P.S.S.: As much as I like USUK, there is no romance here, unless you count Alfred clinging out of fear as romance. And it's unreturned, no blushing Britons for you. Don't shoot me please! D:

**Summary:** Arthur is locked in a haunted house with Alfred, and the American is freaking out. Later, they get their revenge on the one behind all this.

* * *

><p>My name is Arthur Kirkland, and I am from England. Recently I was in a dilemma with the most useless person possible in this situation. I was locked in a haunted house while in California to meet a few friends. However, next to me was a wheat-haired and blue-eyed man named Alfred Jones, but his spasmodic crying was annoying me.<p>

I admonished him, "Stop crying, the rumors of a ghost here are spurious."

Alfred gave a whimper. We were locked inside the haunted house since the bloody frog Francis played a prank on us. It just so happens that this American clinging to me who always claims he can do anything is predisposed to spectrophobia.

I relinquished any hope of getting any sleep with his perennial crying, so I tried to get him to stop thinking about ghosts. "Say Alfred, what is bloody wrong with your taste in movies? The basic plot for all of them is a brigand breaching a bank's security system and the officer commandeers a passerby's car to chase after them."

He stopped crying and blinked while asking, "Commandeer? What does that mean?"

I rolled my eyes and replied, "In your country's English, I believe the term would be 'grand theft auto' using military authority."

Now that his thoughts of ghosts were effaced, we started to argue about what was proper English, and of course the buffoon was incorrect seeing as English had originated in England. However, both of us were too adamant and opinionated to give in, and our argument reached a deadlock. Perhaps the eerie aura had diffused into our thoughts, for we both heard ominous whispering upstairs.

He started bawling like a baby again. Irked beyond belief, I set off to investigate. However, just as I was trying to be circumspect about making my way through the debris littered around the house, he clung to my arm and looked me straight in the eye with teary, baby blue eyes.

I had no choice but to take him, most likely useless deadweight, along. However, his navigating skills were all but naught, so it was a miracle that we managed to muddle through the garbage.

As we were climbing up the stairs, he croaked out, "I'm hungry." I stopped abruptly and the cumbersome man bumped straight into me. I mumbled a curse under my breath for his oafishness.

Remembering my satchel, no, it is not a man purse, I fumbled around and managed to salvage a wrapped scone, then handed it to him. He scowled before taking a bite. It was obvious he disliked it, but he couldn't be picky. Alfred had a notoriously unbridled appetite.

Yet I do not get why he would complain at all, my cooking is absolutely delicious! No matter what the bloody frog or this American says. It's definnitely better than the endless burgers this American eats.

When we made it to the top floor, there was a door swinging open on its hinges. Alfred widened his eyes in fear and hid behind me, cowering. I shrugged him off and crept inside. There were odd whispering noises, and as I fumbled for the switch, the lights turned on.

Francis and his two friends were conspiring together. Gilbert the albino German was giggling, while Antonio the Spaniard was busy munching on a churro, and muttering the occasional "Romano, you're so cute."

He turned around suddenly at the irritated tapping of my feet. "Ah, _mon cher_, I can explain. You see I-" He was interrupted by my fist.

I beat him up until I was satisfied despite his bloody annoying pleas, and angrily stormed out of the room. With newfound adrenaline running through my veins, I kicked down the front door as I heard the German and the Spaniard laughing.

"Kesesese! You really got Eyebrows mad at you this time!"

"I bet if cute little Romano was here he would laugh too! Wait, I think he'd probably get a vase and hit it over our heads but probably _mi tomate_ would laugh secretly when we're all knocked out cold!"

Alfred was beating up Francis as well. I bet he was fuming with indignity, since he was practically crying earlier.

When I got home and brewed a cup of Earl Grey tea, I thought, "Why didn't we think of breaking the door by force earlier?"

* * *

><p>AN: Well that ends this oneshot! :D Stay tuned for any more, and reviews are always appreciated!

P.S.: If anyone suggests a character or a pair I might have them star the next story I can incorporate them into. But no pairings, it would be weird if I turned in a short story with a heck lot of boy's love going on, but I can do subtle things that could pass for friendship.


End file.
